


Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round That Hospital Bed

by annabeth_at_the_helm



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: 1950s, F/M, Gen, Humor, Korean War, Language, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, Racial slurs, anti-communist, attempted humor, nothing worse than the actual show, period typical though, sexual innuendo, the pairings are blink-and-you'll-miss-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24359908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_at_the_helm/pseuds/annabeth_at_the_helm
Summary: "Those filthy Commies deserve whatever they get," Frank says, pomposity in abundant supply.
Relationships: "Trapper" John McIntyre/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Frank Burns/Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round That Hospital Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadesofhades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofhades/gifts).



> Written for "Anti-Communist" on my [Banned Together Bingo card](https://bannedtogetherbingo2020.tumblr.com).

"Those filthy Commies deserve whatever they get," Frank says, pomposity in abundant supply. "To think that they could come to _my_ MASH unit and expect to get preferential treatment. Hmph. Not here! I'll make sure of it."

Margaret nods and gives Frank a vapid smile. "That's right, Frank. Those North Korean soldiers aren't going to get—"

"Get what, Margaret?" Hawkeye asks as he and Trapper enter the mess tent for breakfast.

"I see we're having limp sausage today," Trapper says. He walks towards the line, and Hawkeye calls after him,

"Speak for yourself! I'm planning a _stiff_ sausage for tonight with a cute nurse."

"Pierce! You're despicable," Margaret says, and Franks sniffs. He looks like he's struggling not to grab her hand. "Keep your paws off my nurses."

"Some of them are quite fond of my _paws_ , as you put it, Margaret," Hawkeye says with a peek at Trapper.

"He's right, honey," Trapper agrees, on cue. It's nice to have a partner in crime, Hawkeye reflects, even as Frank sputters.

"They're both disgusting reprobates," he says, looking pleased with himself—as usual. Hawkeye snags a fork and turns back to Margaret, who is looking especially pretty, glowing, even, though her mood is clearly anything but.

"What are the Korean soldiers going to get?" he repeats. She has the good grace to flush; though when she and Frank get together, they bring out the worst in each other, Margaret has good angles. She doesn't show them often—she's too Regular Army and thinks those will detract from her ability to be a good soldier—but when she does, it might be rare but it's beautiful. Too bad as soon as Frank walks in a room, she loses a few IQ points.

"Only the _North_ Koreans," she corrects. Hawkeye takes a tray and begins to fill it with World War II surplus food.

"They'll get sent right back to their damn camps," Frank says. "If they want to fight this war, they can try to get medical care on their _own_ side of the 38th parallel." Frank is obviously proud of himself for knowing that little tidbit of information.

"I hate to break it to you, Frank, but if a soldier lands on my table, I'm going to operate, no matter where he's from." Hawkeye plops down on a bench next to Trapper. "And you know as well as we do that the 'medical care' they get on their side is so poor as to be nonexistent. And—"

"Well, maybe that's what they deserve," Frank huffs.

"I agree with Hawk," Trapper says, watching as Hawkeye sniffs his sausage. "Besides, did ya see his condition when he came in? His boots were worn through and if he'd ever had medical care in his life, it was a long time ago."

Hawkeye groans at the smell of the limp sausage dangling from his fork.

"It's not just limp," he says, "it smells like a World War II latr—"

"Hawk, please, keep it to yourself," Trapper groans right back. "I'll never choke it down if ya regale us all with what it smells like to ya."

"I think if you're going to do surgery on the commies, maybe you should just desert and go join them," Frank says with another sniff.

"You're just itching to get me court-martialed, Frank. I know that's how you think. No, thanks. A wounded soldier is a wounded human being, Frank. Try to have a little compassion."

"Frank failed that question on the vocabulary test," Trapper says, referring to a conversation they've often had about whether Frank even knows the meaning of the word "compassion."

"Frank is perfectly competent!" Margaret says in a huff. "You both are just jealous—yes, McIntyre, _jealous_ —because he's such a fine surgeon."

"The day I'm jealous of Frank is the day somebody better slap the toe tags on me," Hawkeye says. He's still smelling his food, occasionally taking a rancid bite. It tastes as bad as it looks, but he's hungry, so he tries to eat it without tasting it. Across the tables, Radar has a tray piled high with food, and Hawkeye wonders, not for the first time, how he can possibly stand the food in Korea.

"And the day Frank is a fine surgeon is the first day none of his patients _require_ toe tags," Trapper joins in. Hawkeye smacks him on the shoulder; they both laugh.

"I hardly think that was warranted," Frank says. His color is high, and Margaret, who for some inexplicable reason seems to find him attractive, is watching him with her mouth slightly open.

"Hawkeye's right, though," Trapper says. "A North Korean soldier is bound to be just as wounded as an American or one of our allies. And if ya took a particular oath, Frank—which Hawk and I are not so certain ya did—then you should be givin' it your all to save them, too."

"They're even more likely to _be_ wounded," Hawkeye chimes in, "since they're barely prepared for war, just propped up and shipped off to battle."

"Pah," Frank says, jumping to his feet. "If they seem _just as wounded_ , they're probably just faking to get information. Bunch of sneaky, spying, yellow bastards, all of 'em. Come on, Major. These two are hopeless. I'm about to do rounds. Would you care to join me?"

"Glad to," she says, sparing not a look for Trapper _or_ Hawkeye. Hawkeye sighs.

"I hope they don't do something like poison that North Korean soldier in bed five," he says gloomily. "Frank is really something."

"Frank has more in common with those communists he hates so much than his own allies," Trapper adds, and Hawkeye nods.

"Truer words, and all that," he says. He pokes at his sausage. "I think my sausage might be communist as well."

"Do they serve only their party, and worry that they'll never grow up?" Trapper asks.

"If my sausage grows up, Trap, I'll know I've finally lost it."

"I thought ya were planning to grow your sausage tonight with a cute nurse," Trapper reminds him. Hawkeye snickers.

"The day I don't get it up for a cute nurse," he points out, "is also probably the day I'm pushing up the daisies."

"Or for me," Trapper says with a wink and a nudge to Hawkeye's shoulder. They share a private smile and Hawkeye can feel his body stir, just a little.

"Let's go check on that poor soldier," Hawkeye says, "and then we can go procure him some medicine from the supply tent. Together."

"Ya got it, Hawk," Trapper says, and gets up to clear his tray. Outside the mess tent, Frank is arguing with some poor corporal, probably about whether that soldier even deserves a bed to recuperate in.

Too bad Frank will never understand just how much the North Korean soldier, probably conscripted against his will, does require that bed.

END


End file.
